


Can't Say No, Another Love and The Best Day Of My Life

by Nad98



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Coping, Dialogue Heavy, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Other, Queer Themes, Self-Indulgent, Suicidal Awareness, Working Out My Feelings Through Fic, personal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:40:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24933904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nad98/pseuds/Nad98
Summary: 6 years. I am still coping. I am still working through it.On my way I get one more hug, one more lesson, one more music video, one more discussion, one more story and one more joke.And well, another goodbye.In memory of my brother.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10





	1. One More Hug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ❤️ _I love you and I am proud of you for continuing_ ❤️  
> 

I enter Patton’s room. He’s looking through a photo album and humming to himself. I knock on the door frame, to make him take notice of me. He looks up and eyes me confused. I’m not supposed to be there but I don’t care. And after a few seconds I know he doesn’t either.

“Hey kiddo”, he says and stands up from the couch looking at me with sad eyes, “what brings you here? And, uhm, how did you get here? Are you part of the imagination? Did Roman or Remus let the portal open again or-”

“They didn’t, I’m not part of the imagination and how I got here is really not that important. I promise I won’t bother you for too long and sorry for the accent; I’m Swiss and usually talk German all day so I’m not a good speaker.”

He wants to disagree but I continue: “I want to talk about my brother. The memories of him and my regrets of not hugging him more when he was still alive. Can we do that?”

My voice is a little colder than I had hoped and my words sound stupid in my ears but I see Patton nodding and walk towards him. He tells me to sit down and asks me if I want tea. I say yes. He walks into the kitchen and asks me as nonchalantly as he can: “So, what memories do you have of him?”

“He was kind. And an asshole to me. He always was angry with me when I tried to help him with his math homework and he had a neat and tidy desk, while mine was full of cluttered drawings and crayons, pencils and markers. He and I played with his Lego and the throw together cowboy fort and the Bionicles. We went sledding outside in the winter and had trouble to not drive over Schnurrli, who regularly ran in front of our sleds because he got excited and wanted to play with us. He used to always want to come into my room and show me stuff about Star Wars or Spiderman but I didn’t want to listen and closed my door with a belt, which I tied around my door handle, because my mom didn’t want to give me the key to lock the door to my room, because she got stuck in a bathroom with a similar lock when she was a child.”

I stop as he hands me a cup.

“Thank you”, I say and Patton smiles in return. 

Gently, he sits down next to me and holds his cup up as if he wants to cheer with me. How silly. 

I bring up my cup and the cups cling together in the soft light of Patton’s room. I then take a little sip from my cup and exhale the air that was caged in my chest. It feels nice.

“You love your brother a lot, kiddo.”

A statement. It is true.

“You miss him.”

“I do. It’s soon six years and that has never changed. Never.”

“Well, it’s sounds like he’s been a good person. And he was your brother, of course you’d miss and love him.”

“Was or is?” 

Patton looks confused at me. He doesn’t make the connection yet. 

“Was he my brother or is he still, even though he has killed himself?”

Patton’s face pales. I can’t blame him.

“I – uhm. Technically, the family status remains, doesn’t it? It’s not like any usual relationship which you can just break of and – well, death – death doesn’t really end a relationship.”

“It doesn’t?” I ask.

“Not really, I believe. It stops it from developing any further but a friend, a family member or a lover – you don’t stop just feeling attached to them just because they are gone. The feelings of the living stay and are changing over time. They breath and ask for interaction and won’t get them returned. And in a strange way that keeps them alive, doesn’t it?”

I nod and sniff my nose.

“Do you feel that he is still your brother?”

“I do. And some days it’s like he’s still here. Mostly it’s in the mornings or evenings, when my head is fogged from sleep in a way. Then it’s like – I could make him and me a cocoa, I take a plate too many for food or still see him in my dreams. It’s like he’s so close, the memory still so fresh but then there comes the moment when – when I realize that in my head, he – he is still fourteen. A fourteen-year-old boy. But he would have turned twenty this march. Twenty. In our country that’s two years past being allowed to vote, drink hard liquor and drive. Not at the same time obviously but you get the point. And I don’t remember his voice even though sometimes I hear his laugh in a crowd and it – it fucks with you, you know? Some days I don’t know what I exactly miss, what’s exactly wrong just that I wished I could go to him give him a hug and hear his voice for a sec. And that all the others who miss him could do the same. Just once more.”

My voice breaks a few times. But I don’t cry. I have told this before. It’s not new. But it still rattles me.

“It’s okay to feel that way.”

I want to say that I know. My voice betrays me.

“And I think that he would be happy to know that you feel that way. That you miss him and want him to be around. Because, even though he wanted to end his life I can’t imagine that he wanted to stop being your brother.”

I feel myself chocking up. Carefully, Patton lays his arm around me. Maybe he would be the same height as him. Maybe he would wear a similar pair of glasses. I will never know. Nobody ever will.

Patton strokes my back and soothes me quietly. He is much more of a touchy-feely person than he was. But then again, Patton had over thirty years to get comfortable with that, so maybe it is not that surprising.

“He wasn’t a hugger”, I hear myself say.

“Many aren’t. It’s still okay to wish for a hug. A sensation can give so much more than most people think. And I know I’m not him, nobody will ever be him again, but I’ll gladly substituted for him for as long as you need me to, kiddo.”

I nod and turn myself towards him. Quietly he embraces me and I bury my head in his shoulder. Patton’s arms are warm and his presence soothing. I weep a little and let go of the grip I’m holding over myself. Let myself mourn the contact I can never have with my brother again.

It’s been almost six years since his death. Most times when I want to talk about him, I don’t want to be consoled anymore. I want to talk about him, about what a suicide does to the people around of the ones who remain and in how much pain the ones must be in when they chose to kill themselves. I don’t want pity, because it’s not my life which has ended. But on some days, I am grateful for the empathy from the Pattons out there. Some days I’m not big enough to stand up to my grief and need to give in a little.

And on those days, it’s okay to feel that way. It’s okay to want one more hug.


	2. One More Lesson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ❤️ _You are smart and beautiful and I care for you_ ❤️

“Salutations” Logan greets me as I enter through the door of his room.

The ceiling is filled with stars. Everything is blue and simple. My friend would love it.

“Hello to yourself”, I answer and eye him cautiously as I go in a bit further.

Logan was sitting at the table and working on something on his laptop, when I entered but now stands up and observes be closely. It seems he knows what awaits him.

“Patton has talked about me, I assume?” I asked and Logan nods.

“He did. He said that you were conversing about your dead brother. But he didn’t seem to know your name despite you obviously knowing ours.”

“Oh, yah. I didn’t tell him”, I say and stop in my tracks.

Logan approaches me and points for me to sit down with him at the table. I don’t comply. He halts in his movement in response and furrows his brows.

“Oh, you do not need to tell me your name. Patton just told us that we should be polite with you in case you wanted to talk. And sitting and talking together is widely considered to be more comfortable than standing and staring at each other”, he explains and I crack a smile.

I laugh and walk towards him with the reply: “No need to coddle me. It’s fine, I’m generally considered to be hard-nosed. And my name is Miriam. They/Them if you could.”

“Certainly”, Logan says and lets me sit down as he takes his seat across of the table.

“Thank you. It's nice to say this and know it’s not going to be any trouble. I can’t ask for people to use my pronouns in German like this.”

He nods and observes me a little longer. He seems to be considering of what to say next. I let him think and look around a little more. I really enjoy the style, it’s much less cluttered and much more modern than what I saw in Patton’s place.

“I am a little puzzled as of why you would choose to come to me with your emotional trouble. I am not known for my empathy and there are certainly other options available to you.”

I look up to him. I shrug and tilt my head to the right.

“There are other options but I’m not out for empathy or consolation. I want to talk through some things, which you might understand better than other people or sides, I guess. But if you don’t want to that’s okay. I don’t want to pressure you with this.”

“Ah”, Logan ushers and readjusts his glasses, “it is quiet all right. But I am no professional and you might want to take my advice with a grain of salt, so to speak.”

I nod and fumble with my fingers for a moment.

“Our school system works differently from yours”; I start to explain and I see how Logan’s demeanour shifts. “Actually, they have already changed it since I was in school but, well, when I went you had one year of kindergarten and then nine obligatory years of school. After sixth grade you either go to the Realschule, if you don’t have a five or higher in two out of German, French or Math or to the Sekundarschule, which you could choose to go into if you had a five our higher in German, French or/and Math. After those nine years most kids choose to get an apprenticeship for three to four years. Some also have a gap year or make the 10th grade, which is voluntary. If you are in Sekundar and want to go into higher education you can go to the Gymnasium from the 8th grade on, if you have good enough grades. That takes four years and then you have a Matur and can go directly into University. That’s the basics.”

I look to Logan to see if he is still with me. Seeing the fascination almost spark in his eyes I assume he is and continue: “I was pretty happy for most of my school time, minus two years, where I had no friends, but my brother hated school for most of his life, save for the last two years. He was a little slow and quiet in class. It also didn’t help that for probably more than a year he couldn’t read the blackboard, because of his bad eyesight he didn’t dare to tell or mother about. Not because she would be mad but because he didn’t want to be a burden and that’s fucking sad for a ten-year old. So, despite what some teacher made him feel like; he was smart. But I’m the one who was praised for their smartness because I didn’t have to work hard in school when I was younger and barely lifted a finger when I got into Sekundar.”

Logan watches me for a bit and then nods understandingly. I let him sit in silence and work through is thoughts.

“I see… This has to be a very frustrating experience to you. Him being treated this inadequately and unfairly might lead you to feel mad and/or guilty, I assume?”

“It does to a point”, I admit. “I didn’t have it as easy later on in my education and I feel like I cheated my way up the system in a way, even though I don’t know how but it’s not the point. The point is that he was smart; in a school-y way had people taught him correctly, but also in so many other ways.”

“What ways do you mean?”

“He knew how to make friends. He knew how to keep friendships. Despite being an introvert like me and also being less talkative than me, he became charming and sociable, without giving up his hobbies of painting Nerf guns, playing video games and finally catching on in school. And peopleing is so hard! And he got it! He learnt it himself and nobody ever acknowledges that!”

And there is a new silence. One where I see Logan not only understand but empathize with my words. And he doesn’t look happy to feel that way.

With a bitter tone Logan responds eventually: “There I can only agree. Making and maintaining personal relationships is challenging and time consuming. And yet you rarely get credit for doing it. I only ever hear that friendship is reward enough, and while it is quite satisfactory, it would be nice that ones’ efforts would get recognized from time to time.”

“Yeah…”

We sit in silence for some time. A little lost thought but not really. We both know that it hits hard home. An emotionless teacher and a chatty introvert. Both always talking but never quite getting through.

“I also … I also lost my best friend with him, you know?”

Logan looks and waits. His elbow is sitting on the table, his chin placed in his hand, watching me patiently. I didn’t think I would see Logan ever so casually. It was nice. The glasses and the dark hair remind me of my brother. I’m somehow glad that Logan doesn’t have blue eyes as well.

“The relationship with my brother was good. It was the one in which I invested most and the one I was so certain I could never fuck up. He was … the world to me. His growth and knowledge were so inspirational to me. Despite having a rougher start than I, he overtook me and I was so happy for him. I was proud of him. I loved him and I learned from him and I want to teach people through him. So, that this isn’t the last lesson he taught the world, you know?”

Logan cracks a smile. He reaches over the table and pats my shoulder.

“That sounds like a smart idea. Your brother would certainly approve of it.”

I smile at Logan. This isn’t what I thought I would find out about me and him today. But there is always room to learn and to improve.

And one more lesson to learn.


	3. One More Music Video

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ❤️ _Treat yourself with the music that makes your heart beat and your soul full_ ❤️

I knock at the door. It feels like the better choice to be careful with this side and not just burst into his room and make him panic and probably causing him to make me panic as well. Just sounds like a very stupid idea to me.

So, I wait for a moment. I knock again. I wait. I knock. I think of turning away as I hear a muffled: “Who’s it?”

I take a deep breath and answer: “Miriam. I was at Logan’s yesterday and at Patton’s the day before. Can I come in?”

I hear shuffling and a few seconds later the door is opened. Behind the door sill stands Virgil, who eyes me eerily and I put on a brave smile. Somehow this talk intimidates me more than the others.

“Can I come in?” I ask again as Virgil doesn’t move.

Immediately the anxious side shuffles to the left and gives me the space to enter. I see the headphones lying on the coffee table next to the couch and a sketching pad next to it. Almost instantly after I have spotted it, Virgil moved into my line of view and crosses his arms in front of his chest.

“What do you want?”

His tone is defensive and I try to be understanding. The topic must rattle him. The prospect of someone who has gone through such an experience and now comes to him for a talk, possibly advice even, seems terrifying.

“Talk about music. Actually. Or what it does for me”, I say and see Virgil’s eyes go wide.

“And you come to me with that? Not to Princey?” he asks confused and I shrug curtly.

“I have some other stuff I want to talk about with him. Writing and such. It’s a big thing for me. Music on the other hand is mainly something I listen to; I did use to sing a bit but lord that’s no longer something I could present in front of people.”

Virgil furrows his eyebrow and sighs. With a short wave he shoos me to the couch and we sit down. His room feels colder than the other two. The noises are also a little unsettling. Not creepy, just a little bit more creaking of floorboards than necessary.

“K, so how do you want to start?” Virgil probes and I take a deep breath.

“I think I came into this fandom because of a song of yours, actually. “The Things We Used To Share”. I’ve listened to that one in the beginning of May on repeat and – Then I googled Thomas and I remembered a blog on Tumblr I follow, which always posted stuff about you guys and – well I thought “Why not?”. I started watching Sanders Sides and it kind of gave me a new perspective on – I don’t know, on many things actually.”

“It did? How?” Virgil asks surprised.

“Yeah. Like the first time I saw Joan in a video and everybody using they/them pronouns for them, the same with Talyn, and both presenting the way they did, it just made me so happy. It’s cool seeing non-binary people who don’t look androgynous still getting recognized as non-binary. Makes me feel better with my own identity and presentation. Or the first video with you actually. The things that were explained to help with anxiety, I remember them and I’ve used them since. Not always with success but it’s a work in progress, am I right?”

Virgil shrugs visibly flustered and I grin. I guess getting praised for your work even gets the most emo side in the world a little railed up.

“Thanks, I guess”, he says behind a fake cough. “But back to music. I mean besides Thomas’s stuff you must listen to other stuff as well, right?”

“Yeah! Sure. The second I’m out of my home I almost always wear headphones, since I’m often in busses or trains. It also makes shopping a lot easier. I’m a lot less anxious that way. I don’t really have a favourite genre, I just like when it somehow speaks to me, you know? And I usually don’t really know the singers or the band members that well, I just listen to the music. Actually, I’m kinda glad when I remember the title and the interpret at all.”

I laugh a little embarrassed but Virgil doesn’t seem to mind it. If anything, he looks quite entertained.

“Tough I do have a soft spot for certain interprets. Some German and a few Swiss ones, like Silbermond, Roger Cicero and Patent Ochsner, but also a lot of English-singing musicians. I think, my all time favourite and also the start for how I really got into the whole thing is … Coldplay. Imagine Dragons…”

I stop and look from my knees up to Virgil. He frowns and I see a suspicion creep in his eyes.

“They were the bands your brother listened to?”

His tone is cautious but no longer filled with the underlining tone of dread. He knows I’m not out to hurt him.

“Yeah. Viva la Vida has a fricking awesome Minecraft cover. It was probably one of the first music videos he showed me. And he loved to show them to me. I don’t remember many of them. Some which stuck are “Payphone” and “Radioactive”. He had a wild music taste. Avicii and American Authors, and “This is War” by 20 seconds to the Mars on repeat for an hour every night before he went to sleep. And then sometimes some classical music as well. It was diverse and it was cool. And in a way this love of his gives me the opportunity to connect with him. Listening to his songs and enjoying them like he did. It’s a nice way without having to go all the way down to memory town.”

He shifts on his seat and takes a deep breath.

“Must be hard to nod be able to share them with him anymore.”

I nod.

“He loved Star Wars too. He never got to see the new films and judge them for himself. He’ll never find out about the end of Fairy Tail and One Piece. We started them together and theorized about it. And he’ll never get to see the end. He’ll never listen to the new albums from the musicians he loved and the new ones that come up. There is so much enthusiasm and love that can never be given. So much I can’t share with him anymore.”

“Yeah… Not being able to share that stuff with people who aren’t here with one anymore… sucks hard. Very hard.”

I think of the break up Thomas must have gone through. Longing was never the same but for fuck’s sake it was always a bitch.

“I also… I also can’t share myself with him anymore. To him I’m still his sister. I never got to tell him that I’m non-binary. Or ace and aro. I can’t show him my friends and I also can’t bring my new friends to meet him. They never get a chance of knowing him and to a point also knowing me, because he – he used to be in every part of my life. He was the one I actually felt comfortable to talk about anything and now – It’s gone…”

Virgil is still for a moment. He scratches the back of his head and stands up. I watch him walk into the kitchen and get a jug of water and two glasses. Silently, he puts them down on the table and fills them. Awkwardly, he hands me one and I gratefully take a drink. I feel better.

“Thank you. I got a little dramatic there”, I say and hear him huff.

“Happens to the best of us. Also, I think I’ve seen a lot more dramatic people in my life.”

He smirks and I’m suspect that he thinks of a certain Prince but say nothing. In thought I put my right hand on my left upper arm and smile.

“You know, actually he isn’t all gone.”

Virgil looks at me expectantly. I pull up the left sleeve of my t-shirt and show him my tattoo.

“See here? In the middle of the twelve-sided die? That’s a combination of the astrological signs of Taurus and Pisces. For me and him. The die for destiny or luck, I’m not sure I believe in either but I can’t deny them neither, so it’s there. And around it the feather of a peacock. In some circles the peacock is associated with the phoenix. Rise of the Ashes and all of that. Something that never dies and like that I can carry him with me. Nobody can ever take that away from me again.”

Virgil gives me a crooked grin. He looks at it and nods in acknowledgement before he asks me about why astrology signs and I start to tell him all the weird knowledge I have about astrology.

And as I sit there and talk, I realize that in a weird way I never have to experience any music video, any manga, anything at all on my own ever. Because I am carrying my brother with me at all times and if I’m lucky he’s listening.

So, let me pull up YouTube and play one more music video.


	4. One More Discussion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ❤️ _Another day will come and you get a new chance to try again_ ❤️

“I love your hat! I wish I’d see more hat-lovers out in the world”, I say as I appear right in the middle of Janus’s room.

The deceitful side is obviously startled, as he almost lets his plate with – with chocolate chip cookies fall? Luckily, the plate doesn’t fall and I don’t have to be the reason for the spillage of innocent bake ware.

“Sorry”, I say apologetically and only get a huffy glare in return.

But the glare soon fades, as Janus puts the plate on the table and turns back to me, his snaky side slightly turned towards me. I can’t blame him for being defensive. It is his job after all.

“Miriam, I assume?” he says then and I swing my arms at my side as I shrug.

“Yeah, guilty as charged. I’m afraid my reputation precedes me. Sorry, today was a pretty shitty day and I thought maybe I could get a laugh out of tonight but, ah well – I almost ruined your night, with that stunt. Honestly though, I love the hat. It has style.”

Janus’s expressions are quickly changing and it’s a masterpiece of micromovements I usually would love to unravel but now was just too tired to really focus on. And Janus obviously sees my struggle and eventually just raises his eyebrow at me.

Without looking to the plate he takes a cookie with his second left arm, which has just now appeared, and sticks it towards me.

“In need of a cookie then? Patton is a surprisingly good baker”, he offers and I give him a crooked grin and accept.

We sit down on two arm chairs, the cookie plate set between us and a glass of water for me and he conjured himself a glass of wine. And since he’s imaginary I don’t care about his alcohol consumption at all. As long as I am not pressured and the only sober person, I’m fine.

“So, what gives the mood? Virgil described you as rather cheery the other day to all our surprise. What happened?”

I shrug.

“I didn’t get an apprenticeship I hoped I would. And the death date of my brother’s at Friday. So, it’s just shitty in general? But I will be fine. I’ll get one for the next year and will find a different work place for the meantime. It just sucks hard to not get what you thought could get you out of a stagnant situation, you know?”

Janus sighs and takes a deep sip from his glass. I assume he agrees with me and run with my fingers through my hair.

“Generally though, I’m frustrated with people making suicide a taboo. Not that it is not a sensitive topic but talking about it in the open would do a lot better instead of stigmatizing it with shushing it away. It is a huge problem and there are many lives that could be saved had they the possibility to talk about it. I think.”

“You think had it been a more approachable topic, your brother would have been able to be “saved”?” he asks with closing the quotation marks around the saved.

I sigh.

“I don’t think my brother – my brother was saveable. I think he would have done it anyway. But that doesn’t mean that other people shouldn’t get this chance. Nobody should have to feel lonely, as they go. Because in those last moments my brother must have been so alone. He knew we wouldn’t expect it, he knew he would never see us again and never get our love again and he would be on his own forever. Nobody ever deserves to feel that way.”

“The sentiment is admirable but… I doubt that you will be able to prevent that from happening.”

“I know… But if I could help one it would be worth it. One person who didn’t suffer alone. One person who would know that they were not forgotten and would still be loved after they went and – I hate it when people say “lost” their fight. It disregards every fucking day they fought through. Every effort and obstacle they overcame until that very day. It’s not fair. Why has the end to be the defining moment? Why would how you died define if you were a good or a bad person? How does that make any sense?”

Janus watches me curiously and slightly rotates his wine glass in his hands as I speak so agitatedly. With a bitter smirk he responds: “Ah, probably because the act is “selfish” in its nature and causes harm to the relatives of said person.”

“How is being so desperate, being in so much pain and hopelessness that you wish to die and even kill yourself not equal with the harm that will be done to the relatives? How am I not just as selfish for missing my brother and talking about the importance of suicide awareness, while the world is in a goddamn pandemic and the black life matters movement? How? How am I better than my brother?”

Janus turns his human half more towards me. I see a familiar glimpse of sorrow in his eyes.

“I don’t know if they are equal, Miriam. But I don’t believe it matters all that much, since you are still alive and your brother isn’t. Your worries are still here, while we can’t do anything about his worries anymore. And generally speaking, pain isn’t a competition. Just because someone seems to be in “objectively” more pain than you, it doesn’t mean yours isn’t real. It depends on how much you can take and how much you have already taken. And it isn’t fair or evenly split. You are in your right to talk for suicide awareness. As long as you don’t down play all the other catastrophes that are happening all over the world, I don’t think anybody could ever be angry at you for this. I, at least, think they shouldn’t be, if that is of any help.”

I sit there stiffly and gulp. I want to take another bite but let it be. Instead, I take a gulp of water and then look back to Janus. He knows he somehow won that round.

“I think, I knew that. But I really needed to hear it. Thank you”, I say and Janus mock tips his hat for me.

I grin and look into the glass in my hand. I and him discussed often. About anything and everything and we didn’t always agree. I usually was in a more morally ambiguous area, as he usually took on a stricter moral code than I. Even so, he was more cynical than I and most people think of me as an optimist. It is what made our discussions so interesting, I believe.

Though I would prefer I had one more discussion with him, instead of over him.


	5. One More Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _❤️Please don't become a story. Be someone who tells them❤️_

Today I hesitate. As I stand in front of this door I doubt. I doubt a lot. I look down at my fan t-shirt I have of Roman and think of the Prince and his stories. He means so much to me.

In the end, I knock. And the door is opened by no other but the Prince himself. With a smile and bow he silently lets me enter and I come in. He, unlike the others, leads me upstairs into a room that looks like a dream. A giant beautiful desk, paints, pencils orderly arranged at the side and walls full of pictures and shelves filled with books and folders of scripts.

My eyes might as well glow and he looks at me fondly.

“So, Virgil didn’t kid when he said you were a bit of an artistic soul?” Roman asks and lets me roam around the room in awe.

“Of all the things that people say about me that’s the one thing I could never deny!” I say and look at him feeling so very fortunate.

He winks at me and points towards a small divan and I take a seat. Roman rolls the desk chair over to me and sits down himself. He observes me quietly and I know that he wants to ask, but holds back. For my sake.

“I hope the t-shirt isn’t too much”, I eventually say and he grins and raises his hands with flair.

“You can never have too much style, I always say”, he jokes and adds, “also I appreciate the gesture. It’s nice to see somebody wearing my symbol. It’s butter to my soul.”

“I wish I’d have that one day too. People who’d wear pictures or symbols from my characters. Or would just get to read my stories. But for that I need to publish one first so right now my dreams can only be so much. Dreams.”

“What kind of stories do you tell then? I’m curious.”

And I start to tell him from the Traumfinder. I tell him about the crew and their goals and what they are to me. And then I speak about Anin.

“... and he is Lillian’s best friend; orderly, strong sense of right and wrong and. I think of him as the judge. His problematic is Justice and what it means to the people who yield the blade and those who stand on the receiving end and. He – he's the closest character to my brother. By accident. He’s the one who’s closest to him and- I'm not sure if I do him justice with that.”

“Why do you think that? Is he not good enough to resemble your brother?”

“I - No, I don’t think that is the problem with him. I’m afraid I talk him up quite a bit, actually. My brother, not Anin, I mean. Anin has his flaws and problems but it’s nothing my brother couldn’t have faced, it’s more – Anin is a character. He can be thought through as much as I want, in the end that is all that he is. A character. Not a person. And I am aware that you can never make a perfect homage for him but...”

I see Roman watch me sceptically. And then it clicks. He sits up stiffly and fumbles with his hands as he shyly asks: “Nevertheless you want to try. To recreate him perfectly at least in your world, if it is not possible in this one.”

I don’t need to even do something for him to know that he is right.

“Because no matter how close to reality a story or any art can get, it’s impossible to beat the real thing.”

I wanna laugh as he says that but stop so I don’t start to accidentally cry. It’s a harsh truth I had to learn. The most painful thing that even with all my might, all my abilities I will never be able to recreate only a fraction of his soul in my art. Something that might resemble him, maybe. Something that reminds of him, maybe. Something that shows part of his wit, maybe.

But never him. Never again.

“You know, they say that creativity is the greatest gift of all. That it opens every door and makes everything possible. But it doesn’t. It is important, I wouldn’t want to imagine what it would be like if I hadn’t had my daydreams and fantasy world to turn to, but it changes nothing. It has no impact. It doesn’t feel like it has any-”

And there Roman stops me. Firmly, he takes my hand and shakes his head.

“That is not true. Creativity, art has an impact. And you know it. A story might be enough to inspire people to dig in deeper. A picture can distract from their worries. A song might carry them away. And a story written by two can form the most special bond of all. And you know that, Miriam.”

“Mim.”

He blinks and looks at me in confusion.

“It’s stupid but I used Mim as my name on the internet and it kinda stuck with some of my closer friends, who know I’m nb. It’s feels better sometimes instead of Miriam. A little less obvious, you know.”

Roman smiles sadly and nods.

I nod back and say: “And yes, I know what a special thing a story you start writing with someone can be. I and him had a lot of fun brainstorming about a story we wanted to write… I still have the document with the starts for two prologues of the protagonists… It would have been great, I think.”

“I’m certain it would have been great, Mim. You seem to be rather talented with words after all.”

I grin.

“I don’t know. I’ve been writing for so long and for the first time I get acknowledged for it. It’s nice. Sanders Sides is very nice. It’s done a lot for me. I hope I really bring people some joy with these stories I write. I hope I can give them a place where they can relax from the harsh words outside and help them heal a tiny bit, when they read about you, crying and healing and growing with the others. When they see their hero fall but stand up again. Maybe a little broken, a little worn, maybe changed from what they were before, but still there. Still just _being_. And that being enough. Because they adore you for just still standing. For just being yourself. And I hope they get a little closer to realize that they should adore themselves for still standing. For still being here. If they can only find an ounce of that adoration they have for you guys, for themselves, then, then I think that’s the biggest accomplishment I could ever have made.”

Roman looks at me a tear glittering in his eye. I think he never realized what he’s done for all of us.

“To me you are a hero, Roman. You will always be, no matter if you will fall or not. Because I know you will stand up. And I admire that. I just hope you can find closure with your brother. Whatever that means to you. If it means more distance that is fine. If it means reconnection that is okay too. But I hope you find some sort peace with him while you’re still both around. ‘Cause gods I want nobody to live through the story I’ve lived through.”

“Neither would I. You are quite brave for sharing this with me. For being so out in the open with it.”

I shrug and look to the shelf.

“I don’t know,” I say, “if this is brave. It’s just who I am. It needs to get out. To do something. So, it wasn’t for naught. So, that at least his and my story won’t be forgotten. I guess that is what I want; his story to be heard. His story to be out there for people who think they are the only one who’ve gone through this. I want them to find themselves and have a story where they feel at home in.

“I want his story, my story to be their story as well, if they need it.”

I feel Roman look at me and a sense of peace come over me. So, this is it for today. This is the story of today.

I smile. Today the storyteller became part of the story.


	6. One More Joke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ❤️ _Take your time and think about the last time your chest hurt from laughing. Cherish the feeling_ ❤️

I knock at the door uncertain if the last one is going to open. They have probably forgotten me. It’s been two months and a day. I can’t blame them.

Then the door opens. In front of me the Duke in a black sleeping Tee, with paint splashed all over it. He eyes me in surprise and blinks.

“… Why are you here?” he asks and I look up to him.

I gulp and then smirk.

“I have a joke to tell, but it’s not funny,” I say and wait for him to shoo me away or ask me to talk.

“Well, what is it? I’m curious now,” he says and I take a deep breath.

“Do you know what the name Lukas means?”

He shakes his head.

“It’s can mean the Luminous one. Which is funny, because my brother’s favourite colour was a matt black.”

Remus’s lips quirk up and he stands aside so I can come in. His room is chaos, but it is too dark to spot every single edge of it so I leave it be.

“Why come to me, MimMim? What did lead you to my doorstep, instead of poppy Patton’s?”

I look how he places himself on something that probably once was a dining table and lean against a spot by the wall which I deem clean enough.

“Because I vibe with you and with your humour. Because one thing I miss most about Lukas, is the shit talking and laughing we did. You know, because with a sibling its so easy to just get what’s funny to the other? Because you deal with a lot of the same stuff all the time; the same relatives, the same living situation, the same school, and even the same school mates to an extent.”

“If my humour reminds you of him, he’s been pretty dark for a fourteen-year-old,” Remus replies and plays with a thread of his shirt.

I huff and look up to the ceiling.

“He was. He had a lot of nightmares too. He… He watched an astounding amount of horror let’s plays for someone who couldn’t sleep after watching those. But, like really, A LOT,” I say and see Remus look at me and sit up on the table.

He shifts and now sits there criss-crossed eyeing me curiously. Waiting for me to tell him more about his strange love for horror.

“Once,” I start and walk a little away from the wall, now pacing and gesticulating, “when our parents were out for the evening, I went downstairs into the living room to draw at our kitchen table. I put in our Disney’s Lady and the Tramp VHS tape and happily drew for myself. After a while, my brother came down with his laptop and sat to me at the table. He had a let’s play of Lucius going, which is subjectively not even that scary, and listened to it over headphones, so we didn’t bother each other. At once, though, he perked up and told me to stop the TV. I did and asked what was and he said: ‘There’s a noise! A buzz! Do you hear it?’. I didn’t and told him so. He pouted but let me continue watching. Only to stop me two more times until I finally heard it too and realized that it was the sound of the VHS player that had spooked him. I then thought that was it, but like five minutes later he heard another noise from upstairs, steps!, he was certain of it and we had to turn on all lights in the house and go upstairs to look what could possibly have creaked in an old wooden house like ours. Mind you there was nothing to be spooked about and still he probably only got to bed after our parents had moved home that night.”

Remus giggles over my dramatics and I smile widely. I think of the photo of my brother, when he was around four, wearing a red cowboy hat, little cowboy boots, a vest, diapers and had a silly moustache drawn on his face. My mom had to draw it with eyeliner and my brother always refused to bath because he wanted to keep it so badly.

“He sounds like a real scaredy-cat, this brother of yours! He has that in common with my stupid twin,” Remus comments and I sigh.

“I don’t know. Lukas wasn’t really scared most of the time. He had really brave sides too. And… well he was only fourteen when he died. There was still so much that was knew to him. That was foreign and overwhelming. Of course, he was scared.”

“But you were not that much older. Sixteen. That’s not much more experience than he had. Why weren’t you scared then?” Remus asks and I stop in my tracks.

“I couldn’t be scared,” I say. “Someone had to look out after all. Someone needed to remain cool and joke when he was too scared to joke. And there was so much I didn’t know when I was sixteen. I didn’t know how privileged I was and still am. I didn’t know what trauma would do to you. I didn’t know how hard it could be to write job applications and how bad procrastination would get to me. I didn’t know how much being queer would define my whole sense of self. I didn’t know how isolating it would be to be queer and a conservative village in Switzerland. I didn’t understand how far behind Switzerland was with gender equality and same-sex marriage. I was so clueless, that I could not be afraid.”

Remus watches me for a long while. At once his blank expression turns stern and he untangles his legs and slides down from the table and walks over to me. Softly, he puts his hands on my shoulder and I see his eyes glow green for a little less than an blink of the eye.

“But you knew something very vital, didn’t you?”

I feel my heart beat up into my throat and watch him.

“You knew that nothing should be taken for granted. That nothing you ever received was anything else but a gift, something you were given but not entitled to. Something you could cherish as long as it was with you but could and eventually would be taken from you. You posses the gift of knowing that nothing ever belonged to you or anybody else. And you were thankful. You still are. You are thankful for the rain that soaks you, the wind that shook your home and for every minute you spend with your friends or on your own. Because these things don’t belong to anybody, they just are here and we are here to experience them. And you experienced a lot of it with much more gratitude than you give yourself credit for, Mim.”

I sniff my nose and look down to my feet.

“You really cherished laughing with your brother. The stupid talks you had in the bathroom while brushing your teeth and the tired talks and stupid voice imitations you had in the evenings. It will never come back, but at least you were humble enough to know how special that was, even back when he was still alive, Mim. You went to the visiting day he had in school. You met, and played Minecraft with his friends despite being terrible at it. You never told your parents what he told you after the school camp. You told these two boys you sat with in the bus how amazing your brother was, the day you drove home to be met with the police, which would tell you that your brother had called them and said he would kill himself.

“You were the best sibling you could be. You enjoyed the moments as much as you could. All the jokes, all the laughing. You did your best. And despite him no longer being here; that is very much enough, Mim. Very much enough.”

I’m hit by a sob and Remus puts his arm around me.

He is the truth we don’t want to deal with. He is the grief that people say would disappear, but wouldn’t. He is the thoughts that linger in the night, the accusations and guilt of not being enough, not having done enough.

But as he holds me, I feel it.

I feel, that he is also the memories, which used to sting but now comforted. That he’s the smiles, I smile when I see things that remind me of him or he would enjoy. That he will stay with me no matter what and that I will find solace in that fact.

He is the jokes, I’m not supposed to laugh about but laugh about nevertheless.


End file.
